


Decision-Making in Relationships (Paid Research Opportunity!)

by castiowl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a dick, Bucky Barnes & Clint Barton Friendship, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hockey, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, RA Bucky Barnes, Roommates, Steve Rogers & Peggy Carter Friendship, Steve is a Bitter Ball of Anger, Stubborn Steve Rogers, Student Bucky Barnes, Student Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:29:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6414550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint looked thoughtfully at the flyer. “I guess your actual roommate wouldn’t be down with it?”</p><p>Bucky frowned. “Have you <em>met</em> Steve Rogers?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decision-Making in Relationships (Paid Research Opportunity!)

“I’m gonna have to miss practice.”

Clint groaned loudly, attracting the attention of a group of students gathered around the bulletin board next to an emptying classroom. They quickly dispersed as Clint and Bucky shuffled over to the bench sitting beneath the board.

Bucky collapsed on the bench, throwing his legs out with a sigh. He hadn’t slept in close to 24 hours now and he still had two more classes to get through.

“You can’t miss another practice,” Clint said. “Coach’ll kill you. Or worse, kick you off the team.”

Bucky tipped his head back and stared at the water-stained ceiling tiles of the university hall. “I don’t exactly have a choice, do I? I did the math. Unless I get 35 hours a week from here ‘til the end of the semester, I won’t be able to afford tuition next semester.”

“So take out a loan!”

Bucky turned his ire on Clint. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I know you don’t _want_ to do that,” Clint said pointedly.

“Same difference,” Bucky said. Then, before Clint could interrupt him: “Besides, I’ve already talked to coach. He knows my circumstances aren’t… great.” That was an understatement. Bucky was already rationing the Cliff Bars his mom had sent in her last care package because he’d run out of credits for the dining hall. That on top of the fact that coach had discreetly waived his participation fee of a thousand dollars just so he could play this season with the agreement that Bucky would pay it before he graduated just added to the guilt he felt about the whole thing.

“We’re shit without you,” Clint said, which was both flattery and true. Bucky obviously hadn’t seen the collegiate hockey team play without him, but he’d heard the stories.

“I can still make it to the game,” Bucky said. “I’ll practice on my own beforehand or something.”

As the last of the students filtered out of the classroom their Spanish class was going to be in, Clint stood, shouldered his bag, and turned to Bucky. “I wish you’d let me help.”

Bucky shook his head and stood, which took a lot more effort than usual given his severe fatigue. It would be a miracle if he made it through class without nodding off. “I appreciate it, Clint, really. But you know I can’t.”

He expected Clint to insist, to threaten that he’d figure out Bucky’s bank account number and deposit part of his parents’ considerable trust fund money into it, but instead Clint was staring determinedly at the bulletin board over Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky turned to look. The board was littered with flyers and posters – a local band was playing at a college bar in the city, the English department was looking for editors for the university poetry and prose collection they put out every year, a few papers with tear-away phone numbers at the bottom of people looking for roommates. Then Bucky finally saw what had caught Clint’s attention:

 **Long Island University, Department of Psychology**  
**PAID RESEARCH OPPORTUNITY**  
**Romantic Couples Study**

 **You and your partner are eligible to participate if you:**  
\- **Are in a committed, monogamous, romantic relationship**  
\- **Have been dating for at least six months**  
\- **Are currently living together**  
\- **Are both over the age of 18**  


**The study entails:**  
\- **Filling out an online questionnaire**  
\- **Engaging in video-recorded conversations with your partner**  


**BOTH YOU AND YOUR ROMANTIC PARTNER ARE REQUIRED FOR THIS EXPERIMENT**  


**** Couples of all genders and sexualities welcome ****  


**$20/hour**  


**Please contact Darcy Lewis or Jane Foster.**

A pocket behind the flyer held copies of the paper and information, including a phone number and e-mail address for Darcy and Jane. There were only a few copies left and Clint took one. He handed it to Bucky.

Bucky took the flyer, but said, “Uh, I don’t know how to break this to you, Clint, but I am woefully single.”

“Yeah, but those guys don’t need to know that! Look, you and I pose as a happy couple for a couple hours and that’s enough money for this practice at least. Easy money, Buck. Besides, I can tell you’re fucking exhausted. It hurts to look at you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he followed Clint into the classroom and they took their seats in the back. “As flattered as I am that you would be willing to fake-date me, it won’t work. It said we have to be living together.”

“Yeah, so we lie about that, too.”

“You forget I’m an RA. And Jane Foster lives in my building so it’d be pretty easy for her to figure out you and I aren’t roommates.”

Clint looked thoughtfully at the whiteboard at the front of the classroom. “I guess your actual roommate wouldn’t be down with it?”

“Have you _met_ Steve Rogers?”

  


* * *

  


Everyone had met Steve Rogers. Or they’d at least heard of the guy. Despite being a third-year art student, even folks in the biochemistry program with Bucky had heard of him. And usually that conversation went something like this:

“Oh, yeah, I know Steve Rogers!”

To which Bucky would reply, “Yeah, he’s my roommate.”

And the other party would grimace in commiseration and mutter, “Oh, dude, I am _so_ sorry.”

Or, if you were Natasha Romanoff, laugh hysterically until you started crying real, actual tears.

As a general rule, the hockey team paired off together at the beginning of each term, but since it was co-ed and included grad and undergrad students, it was a little more complicated. At the end of the day, Bucky had no one to room with. It didn’t bother him; he got along with most people and spent next to no time in his room anyway. Sharing a room with a rando for a year couldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

But then move-in day came and he met Steve Rogers and realized it was, actually, the worst thing in the world. The guy was _prickly_. Everything seemed to set him off – too much noise, not enough noise, Bucky’s posters were taking up too much room but he couldn’t take them down, where was his _conviction_ , and couldn’t he meet his friends before hockey practice in the _hallway_ instead of in the room, and close the damn door if you’re going to be talking so loudly out there, do you ever wash your socks or do you plan to make a second rug with them instead? 

And that was all within the first week. By week two, Bucky had successfully maintained a full 24 hours without invoking the wrath of Steve Rogers and called it a victory. Since then, the two had continued a sullen, begrudging silence marred only by absolutely necessary queries.

Clint and Sam had both asked Bucky why he didn’t high-tail it out of there and get himself a new roommate, but it was a point of pride. Bucky was an RA. He was supposed to be an expert on conflict resolution and if he couldn’t even fix what he had with his own roommate, how could he expect the other residents in his building to listen to his advice?

Occasionally Bucky almost felt bad for the guy. Steve didn’t seem to have many friends and his reputation preceded him into every conversation so Bucky couldn’t imagine _making_ friends would be much easier. He apparently got into quite a few fights – mostly verbal, considering the guy couldn’t be taller than 5’5” and 90 pounds soaking wet.

But then Bucky would come home at 11 at night, bone-tired from practice, knowing he’d be up for another two hours finishing his English paper, and Steve would look over from his tablet and ask, “Are you keeping the gym bag in the room?” which was his passive-aggressive way of reminding Bucky he couldn’t keep his dirty gym clothes in the small dorm, no exceptions, even if they were zipped away, and Bucky didn’t feel so bad for him after all.

Bucky snatched his chem book off his desk at the foot of his bed and replaced his Spanish book in his bag with it. He let his eyes roam the room for a second, ensuring he wasn’t forgetting anything before he left for his final class. He had RA duty from 6 until 11 in the front office of the residential hall afterward so he could get some homework done then, even though he would much rather be at practice. He mournfully left the room and headed to class.

  


* * *

  


Bucky had just gotten comfortable behind the big desk in the front office of Summerton Hall when he got the text from Clint: _We’ll miss you at practice!!!!!_

It was followed by a string of seemingly meaningless emojis. Bucky smiled nonetheless, then his face dropped. Alone with his thoughts, he finally had time to wonder if maybe it was time he consider dropping the hockey thing. They were only Division II. A co-ed team with 15 players and no conference to compete in. No one on the team thought they’d be playing for the Rangers in a couple years, but it was _fun_. Club hockey might not be winning him any scholarships, but Bucky loved every single person on his team and the thought of leaving them because he couldn’t afford to be on the team was devastating.

More than that, it was humiliating. Humiliating because he knew the team would take it upon themselves to make sure he _didn’t_ have to quit. They’d do something totally cliché like have a bake sale and Quill would try to slip pot into the brownies and Sam would have to stop him. Or Tony and Bruce would invent a way to make the scientifically best-tasting cookies and Loki and Gamora would used their combined efforts to glare at people until they bought something…

So caught in his reverie, Bucky hadn’t noticed someone was knocking on the door the office. “Come in!” he shouted.

The door opened and Steve stepped through. Bucky’s heart immediately dropped. He’d made sure to put his laundry away and close his laptop and make sure his blankets were on his bed and turn off the lights and lock the door, so what could the guy possibly have to complain about now?

“Hey,” Bucky said, trying for cheerful.

Steve, he knew, was immune, and frowned deeper at the greeting. “I found this,” Steve said. He held up a piece of paper and Bucky sat up a little straighter. He tried to remember the last time he’d passed notes with Clint and if those notes had mentioned Steve at any point, but then Steve turned the paper toward him and Bucky recognized it as the research opportunity flyer.

“Oh, yeah, my friend gave that to me,” Bucky said. Then, with a sudden realization: “Hey, what the hell were you doing going through my shit?!”

Steve stepped into the room, having turned the paper around, and was reading it. “I don’t think it counts as your shit if it was splayed all over our communal floor,” Steve said. At least he didn’t sound annoyed, but Bucky couldn’t remember knocking anything over on his way out. Maybe the paper had slipped out of his Spanish book at some point.

“Whatever,” Bucky said. “What do you–?” He stopped after remembering he was on-duty and therefore was supposed to be treating his residents like tenants, not fellow students. Or asshole roommates, for that matter. Bucky cleared his throat. “Did you need something?”

Steve took a seat across from Bucky at the desk, still looking down at the paper, eyes flitting back and forth behind his overly-large glasses. Steve seemed to not have heard.

“Steve,” Bucky said. “Pal?” He put a finger on top of the paper in Steve’s face to lower it down.

“Oh, yeah, I mean, I’m in,” Steve said, finally looking up.

“I –.” Bucky stopped short. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Want me to call? I think Jane lives here, actually, but I don’t mind calling if you don’t want to,” Steve said.

“Whoa, whoa, slow your roll, kid.”

Steve actually bristled at that, like a cat arching its back. Bucky half-expected him to hiss, but instead he said, “You’re only a year older than me.”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, each time trying to come up with a reply to that because _Okay?_

“Look, I think you got the wrong idea here. My friend gave me that and it wasn’t… I’m not _asking_ you –”

“Well if you don’t want to, fine!” Steve snapped and stood abruptly from his chair so that it fell over. His cheeks were red with anger, fists clenched at his side, one of them crumpling the flyer.

“Shit,” Bucky said, leaning back in his chair. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Aren’t _you_?” Steve asked.

“Well, I wasn’t, but…”

But Bucky needed the money. If they could stretch out the testing process, he could be walking away with 60 or 80 bucks for just a few hours of – what exactly? Answering a few dumb questions? He could do that. And then he could give up next Friday’s RA shift for practice. It wasn’t the worst idea he’d had. And Steve, for whatever godforsaken reason, seemed to be okay with it.

“You’re cool with this?” Bucky asked. “I mean, you know what this means, right?” Bucky motioned to the paper in Steve’s hand.

Steve seemed to loosen up a little and he bent over to pick up the chair before sitting down again. “Yeah. Pretend to be dating for a couple of hours, answer some questions. I did theatre in high school. Can’t be that hard. Do _you_ know what this means?”

“What–?”

“You’ll have to walk into Byrd Hall. With me. You’ll be coming out to Jane and Darcy and while I’m sure there’ll be some bullshit nondisclosure thing, shit gets around. I don’t want your fragile, masculine sensibilities to be damaged by the very idea someone might think you’re gay.”

Bucky frowned. “My fragile, masculine sensibilities are just fine despite the fact that everyone already _knows_ I’m gay,” Bucky said evenly, but with no lack of vitriol.

It had the desired effect of making Steve go red and speechless. Finally, he managed to stutter out, “I didn’t- I mean, I didn’t know you were _gay_. Not that there’s- that there’s anything wrong with- I mean, I’m- I’m not _gay_ , but I’m- I don’t know why I keep saying it like that, I don’t hate- I mean, I’m not gay, but I’m- I’m- I’m…” Steve swallowed and said, “I’m bi.”

“Great,” Bucky said. “Well, we can talk about this tomorrow. I’m on duty, and this technically counts as personal business. So unless you have a complaint about your roommate…”

“No!” Steve said immediately. “No, sorry, yeah. I’ll, um, do you want me to call?”

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky said.

Steve got up and left in a hurry, closing the door behind him.

  


* * *

  


Steve was already sitting at an empty table in the dining hall when Bucky arrived. It was Saturday morning, halfway through their short fall break that preceded Thanksgiving break and almost everyone was either off-campus or sleeping in. Bucky was fortunate enough to live a short 10-minute drive from his childhood home where his mother and little sister would be making some egregiously overpriced dinner none of them could hope to finish on Sunday. So, even if today’s plans when south, he’d at last have that to look forward to.

Bucky attempted to catch Steve’s eye, but he was staring resolutely at his phone, so Bucky ducked into the serving area to snag a stack of cold, stale pancakes and rubbery eggs before paying with his continually depleting dining credits.

He sat in front of Steve, who jumped a little at Bucky’s arrival. Bucky pretended not to notice. “Hey,” Bucky said.

“I printed out a list of questions we should go over,” Steve said and he reached toward the seat next to him into his bag to pull out two pieces of paper.

“Straight to it, then,” Bucky said, taking the paper that Steve slid toward him.

Steve frowned at him, which Bucky dutifully ignored. Bucky looked down at the paper to find it was a printed list of questions – starting with “Full name” and ending with “If you could travel anywhere in the world and money wasn’t an issue, where would you go?”

Bucky stabbed at a piece of pancake and ate it, chewing thoughtfully as he skimmed over the questions. “Reminds me of those MySpace quizzes that were cool when we were in, like, middle school?” Bucky said. 

When Steve didn’t reply, Bucky looked up to find he was being scowled at in disgust or anger or possibly both.

Bucky swallowed. “What, did I do something?”

“Most of these are easy,” Steve said after a beat of silence. “Obviously we know each other’s names, birthdays, place of birth…”

“We do?” Bucky asked, surprised.

Steve quirked an eyebrow. “Well, _I_ do.”

“You know my name, my birthday, my –”

“James Buchanan Barnes, March 10th, Brooklyn. Probably Red Hook? Don’t look so surprised. Most of that info was on the ‘Get to Know Your Roommate’ sheet they give you before the semester starts.”

Bucky tried to think back to the quick info sheet he’d gotten about Steve, but all he remembered was the extensive list of medical conditions he had and the fact that Bucky couldn’t bring candles or incense, which was an unnecessary note since candles and incense were contraband anyway.

“And you remembered all that?” Bucky asked.

Steve went a little pink and shrugged, mumbling something about a good memory.

“Right, well, for the sake of– Wait, that sheet _definitely_ didn’t say where I was born,” Bucky remarked.

“You talk to your mom a lot on the phone.” And before Bucky could even formulate a response, Steve said, “It’s not eavesdropping if I’m four feet away. You could take your conversations out to the hall.”

Bucky couldn’t argue that. What he found strange, however, was that up until this point, he’d assumed that Steve had been listening to music loud enough to drown out any conversations Bucky had over the phone because he almost always had headphones in. In a rush of realization, he tried to remember if he’d said anything embarrassing, thinking Steve wasn’t listening.

“Steven Grant Rogers, July 4th, also Brooklyn. Brownsville, mostly,” said Steve.

“Mostly?”

“We moved around a lot.”

“Right,” Bucky said. “Okay, next question.” He looked at the list and realized it very well could’ve been pulled from a MySpace bulletin, circa 2005. “Do you like… your handwriting?” Bucky looked up at Steve with an incredulous smile on his face.

“What?” Steve said.

“That’s a question on here. Did you even read these?” Bucky pointed out the question on his paper. “Oh, here’s another one: ‘what’s your favorite lunch meat?’”

“I didn’t have time to read them. I just printed the first one that I saw,” Steve said defensively. “You clearly didn’t have a better plan,” he added, motioning toward Bucky and what Bucky assumed was his lack of printed questionnaires.

“I did, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We just talk to each other. Like normal human beings.”

Steve sighed, as if the very idea was tiring, but he said, “Fine,” and snatched the paper from under Bucky’s hand to shove it back in his bag. Bucky was unable to hide the smile on his face. When Steve noticed, he somehow became even surlier.

“No offense,” Bucky said sincerely. “I’m sure the… lunch meat question will definitely come up during this research thing. It’s good to know.”

“I don’t eat meat.”

“Vegetarian or vegan?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, probably trying to decide if Bucky was making fun of him. “Vegetarian,” he finally said.

Bucky nodded and pulled his pancakes and eggs back toward himself to continue eating. “Cool. Being vegan is expensive as shit. Tried to do the vegetarian thing a year ago, but I have to keep so much weight on for hockey and I can barely afford this garbage as it is, let alone weekly trips to the farmer’s market,” Bucky said with a disdainful look at his plate.

“Did you ever look into the co-ops here? My friend Maria is the RA over at Oberlin and she’s always talking about how great it is. The college provides all the food so long as you maintain the kitchen and put in the work.”

It was the most Bucky had ever heard Steve say in one go without being passive aggressive, so he attempted to hide his surprise when he said, “Oh. Yeah, I looked into it, but I wanted to be an RA and Summerton is closer to the rink.”

Steve nodded, seemingly satisfied with Bucky’s answer. “You’ve been playing hockey since middle school?” Steve asked.

Bucky opened his mouth and then closed it, at a loss for words. Finally, he managed to say, “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

Steve looked down at the table and shrugged. “Heard you talking to your, um, teammates.”

There was apparently a lot Steve knew about Bucky just from casual observation, which only highlighted just how little Bucky knew about Steve. That was remedied, however, by spending the next two hours talking about school, work, social life, home, and everything in between.

Steve had been sickly as a child, which stunted his growth. He’d always been interested in art, but did poorly in school because he’d had such an unsteady home life. His mother got shafted from job to job and they had constantly been moving and a couple times homeless, if Bucky was reading between the lines correctly. He’d been severely bullied, too, which explained his intense distrust of Bucky who knew he looked the part. He tried to convince Steve that he’d actually been a huge geek in high school, winning the regional science fair all four years in a row and never successfully asking anyone out, boy or girl. Steve didn’t seem to believe him, but as their conversation went on, he smiled a little easier and was more forthcoming.

Steve’s easy posture and light laugh were something of a revelation to Bucky. Bucky’d never considered for a second that maybe his roommate might be someone he could be friends with because he never thought they’d get past the cold, distant acquaintance phase. But now, looking at Steve as he recounted an exploit with Peggy, the president of the Gender and Sexual Minorities club, Bucky thought he not only could be friends with this kid, he might actually _like_ him. Steve was funny and witty and bitter as hell, which Bucky knew from experience, but seeing the undercurrent, the reasons why Steve was the way he was, put everything into perspective.

Bucky was enjoying Steve’s story about breaking into a frat house to deface their Welcome to LIU signs, which had originally stated such gentlemanly things like “Thanks for your freshman daughters!!” when Steve suddenly stopped and tensed, his shoulders shrugging up as he sank in his seat. 

Bucky frowned and followed Steve’s guarded look to the front of the dining hall. A group of guys had walked in, a few that Bucky recognized from the locker room. The locker room was situated between the indoor rink and the outdoor football stadium, so practices occasionally overlapped and it wasn’t uncommon to find guys in football pads chatting with guys in skates. The guys walking in now were laughing and talking loudly, and Bucky recognized Brock Rumlow, the running back, as the defacto leader.

Bucky turned back to Steve and raised his eyebrows. “What, were they part of that frat or something?” Bucky meant it as a joke, but Steve just shook his head. 

Steve was finally able to focus back on Bucky when the guys disappeared into the food area and out of sight. “No, they’re just assholes,” Steve said, running his hand through his hair. “Part of a different frat. A co-ed frat that’s supposed to be about community service, but Peggy got wind that for initiation, they were planning a ‘mandatory freshman girl rush physical’. We put a stop to it, obviously.”

“Gross,” Bucky said.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “We ratted ‘em out to the director and got them all kicked out, and all their community service hours the past semester had been revoked, which meant a lot of ‘em had to work over the summer to stay on the team.”

“Oh shit,” Bucky said, impressed.

Steve visibly brightened at the slight praise and he even cracked a smile. “You should’ve seen their faces when they found out –”

“Hey, Rogers!” The faux-cheery voice made even Bucky tense up, but it was nothing compared to the full-body spasm Steve did as Brock Rumlow sauntered over to their table. The rest of his group had found a table on the other side of the hall and were staring openly at Steve, Bucky, and Brock although it would be impossible to hear them from that distance. “I thought mole people were allergic to sunlight,” Brock said thoughtfully, even scratching his chin for the full affect.

Bucky frowned and shifted in his chair. Playful teasing was one thing; you didn’t play on any sports team without it, but this was clearly beyond that and Bucky honestly hadn’t had to deal with straight-up bullying since high school.

Brock only then recognized Bucky and he looked slightly put-off. “Barnes,” he said. “I hope this kid isn’t giving you a hard time.” He leaned in toward Bucky conspiratorially and added, “Careful. He’ll get you kicked off the Pioneers if you even look sideways at a girl.” He straightened up again and spoke to Steve again, “No hard feelings, right, man? I mean, I get it. Looking like that, it must be really hard to get a girl to look at you. If you’d just asked, the guys and I would’ve shared–”

Steve was on his feet and crowding into Brock’s space before Bucky could even formulate a response. Brock grinned down at Steve like a shark and said, “You gonna hit me, Rogers? You’d better make sure you have your inhaler this time.”

Steve looked just about ready to snap when Bucky pushed his way between the two, forcing Brock back a few steps. “Back off, Brock.”

Brock’s eyebrows rose in surprise. His eyes snapped between Bucky and Steve quickly and then a wide grin spread across his face. “Rogers, you got yourself an attack dog? That’s real cute. Tell me, which one of you tops? I mean, Rogers has got that mouth on him, but they must call you Bucky for some reason.”

Bucky itched to wipe that sneer off Brock’s face with a punch, but not even he was dumb enough to risk getting kicked out of school for fighting. He swallowed his anger and said, “Gee, Brock, if you were so interested, ya shoulda said.” Bucky dipped his chin, stared at Brock through his eyelashes, and smirked. “Guess I shoulda figured you were showin’ off in the locker room all those nights.” Bucky pressed his thumb to the dip of Brock’s chin and lifted his head slightly.

Brock immediately recoiled, stumbling back and nearly upending the plate he was still holding. “Christ, what the hell?” he shouted. “I ain’t–! Christ! Don’t fuckin’ touch me, you–”

“What’s going on?” a familiar voice cut in. Bucky glanced over to find Clint and Sam had appeared. Clint was frowning, but Sam was looking downright murderous.

“You gonna finish that sentence, Rumlow?” Sam asked. “Because I’ll have the discrimination board on your ass in a second if you do.”

Brock looked stuck between bewildered and spitting mad. Finally he turned and joined the small group of his teammates on the other side of the hall.

“Jeez, Buck, you got a death wish?” Sam asked.

“Not exactly,” Bucky said and turned to find that Steve was throwing his bag over his shoulder, preparing to leave. “Steve?”

“I’m fine,” Steve snapped, leveling Bucky with a glare.

“Uh, we’re gonna get food. We’ll catch you later, man,” Sam said and grabbed Clint’s arm to drag him away.

“You shouldn’t’ve done that,” Steve said in a low voice.

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe not. But you looked about ready to pummel the guy and I feared for his face. Any more damage and he wouldn’t look any different than the rock he crawled out from under.”

Steve snorted a laugh and Bucky smiled. “Yeah, well,” Steve said, looking anywhere but at Bucky. “I gotta go. I’ll see you at four?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. And with a final nod at his shoes, Steve left.

  


* * *

  


“Thank you so much for doing this!” Jane Foster wrapped Bucky in a tight hug, catching him by surprise. 

“Oh,” he said. “Right. Sure. No problem.” He patted her lightly on the back until she let go.

The lab was cluttered and Bucky vaguely remembered having an intro bio class in the room. Two tables in the back were cleared off and a video camera sat on a tripod facing one of the tables.

“You’d be surprised how few long-term couples there are on campus,” Jane said.

“Even with the bangin’ monetary incentive,” Darcy chimed in. She was seated on top of the other table, her legs swishing back and forth. 

“Oh yeah, I’m just… happy to help. I mean, we are. Steve and I. I mean,” Bucky said.

Darcy smiled and Bucky swore it was a little devilish. “Where is your boyfriend, anyway?”

“Oh, he’s–”

“Right here,” Steve said as he came into the room. His hair was mussed and Bucky had the sudden urge to try and lay it flat with his hands. He considered it for half a second because they were supposed to be selling it, but then what if Steve freaked and gave them away? It was best to keep his hands to himself, Bucky figured.

Jane clapped her hands together. “Great! Let’s start.”

  


* * *

  


Without Jane and Darcy in the room, it became a little bit easier to look at Steve. However, Steve didn’t seem to share that feeling and he kept glancing at the video camera, as if expecting it to catch something truly embarrassing in spite of the fact that they were just sitting there with a stack of notecards between them.

“Okay, let’s get started,” Bucky said. He took Steve’s silence as consent and picked up the first notecard. “Your home is on fire and you and your partner can only take one thing. You have to agree on which one item to save. What is it?” Bucky looked up at Steve and said, “Well, I’m leaving this one up to you. My shit isn’t worth anything.”

“It’s not about value, it’s about sentimentality,” Steve countered. “What about those cards your mom sends you? You don’t want to save those?”

Bucky raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t made it a secret that his mom sent him ridiculous Hallmark cards with every care package. She went for the cards that were nonsensical, outlandish, or just embarrassing. Bucky loved every one of ‘em, often propping them up on his desk. The fact that Steve knew how much Bucky cherished them was surprising. But maybe not, considering how observant Steve had apparently been the few months they’d lived together.

“Nah, she sends me those twice a month,” Bucky said. “What about you? There’s gotta be something.”

Steve stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling. “I guess the quilt.”

“Oh.”

Of course Bucky knew about the quilt. It was a faded, worn, but comfortable-looking blanket that lay out on top of Steve’s comforter and sheets on his perpetually perfectly-made bed.

“My mom made it for me, y’know, before she died,” Steve said. It was easy, casual, nothing that the camera would pick up as off. But Steve couldn’t have dropped a bigger bombshell. 

“Yeah, of course,” Bucky said, attempting to sound somewhere between reverent and unsurprised.

“Next,” Steve said and picked up another notecard.

They went through them, taking their time but not purposefully dawdling. It was close to an hour and a half later when they finally finished up. It was probably ironic how well they were able to problem solve and compromise considering they’d made pretty hostile roommates just a couple days beforehand. Now it was like they’d been working together for years. 

“There’s just the questionnaire, now,” Steve said and pulled the paper toward him. “Um, normal stuff: names, ages, our major/minor.” After Steve filled in all the nominal info, he said, “Now it asks, ‘When did you start dating? If you don’t have an actual date, an estimate is fine.’”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve who shrugged furtively in reply.

“Christmas” Steve replied, scribbling it down on the paper in his messy scrawl.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed, as casually as he could manage.

“Next question asks, ‘How long have you been together?’”

“It’ll be a year this Christmas,” Bucky supplied easily. 

“Okay, and finally, _oh_.”

“What is it?” Bucky asked, leaning across the table to try and read the question.

Steve had a gone a particularly dashing shade of pink. “It, uh, they want to know if we’re, um, if we’ve–,” he cleared his throat and read from the paper, “‘Are you and your partner sexually active?’ Then it says we can skip this question if we want…”

“Just point down the truth, Steve,” Bucky said, hoping his amusement at Steve’s embarrassment came off as adoration for Steve’s prudence on camera.

“Right, yeah, the truth,” Steve said. His hand hovered over the question for some time before he finally managed to check a box. Bucky was too far away to see.

  


* * *

  


“Wasn’t so bad,” Steve said as they headed back to their room. It was a little past six in the evening and campus was quiet. The weather was just tipping into autumn and the sun was barely shedding any light on their path back to the east side of campus.

“Plus an extra 40 dollars for no work at all,” Bucky said cheerily, patting his pocket where his wallet was feeling delightfully heavy.

“You don’t… feel bad?” Steve asked.

“Christ, at least let me spend it before you make me feel guilty.”

Steve made some noncommittal noise like a grunt.

Bucky sighed. “Look, it’s not like it’s Jane and Darcy’s money. And besides, you heard what Jane said. They were having a hard time finding people to do it. We were doing them a _favor_.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Without us, they’d’ve… failed out of the psych program. Become misers. Begging for scraps.”

Steve finally cracked a smile as they crossed the street.

“I never thought to ask – what do you need the money for?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, it’s… nothing. I mean, I’m here on scholarship which pays for pretty much everything except school books. And I pay for that by working at the video store over the summer and on the weekends when they need help? But…” Steve trailed off, staring down at his shoes as they maneuvered the brick path toward Summerton that cut behind the baseball field.

“What?” Bucky asked.

Steve shrugged. “It’s… since my mom died, I don’t really do much – or anything – for Thanksgiving. Um, but there’s this rescue mission in the city that APO – that community service frat I mentioned – helped out a couple times. And I help out when I can. And they mentioned, last time I was there, that they wouldn’t have enough to do the Thanksgiving dinner they usually do for people there and I just thought… whatever I could do to help.”

“Christ, you make me feel like shit, you know that?” Bucky said, although when Steve looked over at Bucky in surprise, Bucky made sure to smile.

Steve huffed. “Sorry,” he said. “But I’m sure whatever you’re doing is equally as important. To you, anyway.”

“You’re a little shit, you know that?” Bucky said. He reached a hand over and knocked Steve’s head forward playfully. Steve laughed and smoothed his hair back down.

“Um, but, you know,” Bucky said, “my ma only lives ten minutes from here. And it’s just her and me this year for turkey day ‘cause my sister is going to her in-laws’ place in Jersey. If you wanted to come. My mom makes way too much food. And it’s good. Really good. And she wouldn’t mind.”

“That’s really, um, thanks,” Steve said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Sure.” 

They made it to Summerton and Bucky collapsed onto his bed when they made it into the room. It was the first time they’d both been awake in the dorm together while not actively avoiding one another. It was a strange feeling. Bucky wondered what else they could be doing together; he wasn’t quite ready to go back to stoic silences, not after he’d discovered how willfully talkative Steve could be.

“Don’t you have a break around 12 every day?” Bucky asked, letting his head fall to the side. 

Steve stopped untying his shoes to look over at Bucky. “Yeah,” he said.

“You should have lunch with me. Well, us,” he amended. “A couple of the guys on the team have breaks then, too, but they’re cool. Well, I say _cool_ …”

“You mean as cool as you.”

“Which is to say–”

“Not at all.”

“You’re a little punk.”

Steve laughed. “All right,” he said. “Yeah, that’d be _cool_.”

Bucky rolled his eyes then yelped when a pillow flew at his head.

  


* * *

  


Bucky sat at the table in the dining hall the Monday after fall break just as Tony was finishing some exaggerated tale, denoted by his enthusiastic hand-waving gestures.

Sam pushed the other half of his sandwich and chips toward Bucky without even looking, his attention still raptly on Tony. Bucky had long since gone past guilty and was now somewhere in the owed-Sam-his-life category. He had tried refusing the first three or four times, but now he was too hungry to even complain. Sooner or later, Bucky’s mom would ask if he was eating enough and Bucky would hedge and the next day his dining credits would be miraculously full again. But until that time…

“So, what’s this I hear about you getting Surly Steve Rogers to fake date you?”

Bucky looked up, realizing with a jolt that Tony was talking to him. Bucky shot Clint a glare who in turn looked unperturbed.

“Yeah, it was just for a research project thing. Which I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone else, _Clint_. I don’t want Jane and Darcy to figure it out,” Bucky said.

Tony waved his hand and said, “My lips are sealed, Bucky-boy! I just wanna know how you did it. I heard that kid gets kicked out of more classes than he goes to.”

“Didn’t he, like, fight a professor or something?” Clint asked. 

Bucky realized the question was posed to him. “How would I know? I mean, probably not. Look, he’s actually a really nice–”

“Oh _hell_ no!” Sam interrupted with a big, toothy grin. “Don’t tell me. You had one conversation with the guy and now you’re friends? C’mon, Buck.”

“What do you want me to say?” Bucky asked defensively.

“That you’re joking. That guy’s a nightmare.”

Bucky frowned down at the sandwich in front of him. “He’s not that bad,” Bucky mumbled.

Sam snorted. “Dude, one time you stayed in our dorm for _three nights_ because every time you so much as looked in his general direction, you said he tried to murder you with his laser eyes.”

“Yeah and then you said when you went back, he reamed you for staying at our place because it was against school policy to have more than two people to a dorm,” Clint said.

“Yeah, well,” Bucky said.

“And lest we forget the time he claimed you were listening to your Spanish homework too loud _with your headphones in_ ,” Sam said.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, he’s a little… sensitive.” Sam gave him a dubious look. “I’m serious!” Bucky said emphatically. “I think we came to an agreement on Saturday. I even invited him to join us today. So, be nice. Please?”

“It’s not me who’s gotta be nice,” Sam said. 

Bucky knew when it came down to it, Sam wouldn’t cause any problems; he was the easiest person to get along with in their group anyway.

“Well, I still think he’s got a stick up his ass,” Clint said. “Even if he was your pity date.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky needn’t have worried about his friends making a good impression on Steve or vice versa because Steve never showed for lunch. Bucky didn’t see him again until later that night. Bucky chucked his gym bag in the corner of the room as soon as he opened the door; it had been a hard practice, but worth it considering the alternative was more late-night RA shifts. Steve was awake, sitting at his desk with his back turned, headphones in and typing on his laptop.

“Hey,” Bucky said. He expected a reply, considering the recent evidence that Steve might not actually be listening to anything at all when he had headphones in, but that was clearly not the case this time.

Bucky shrugged, grabbed his towel and bath things, and headed to the showers. Twenty minutes later he returned to find Steve laying in bed with his head propped up, no headphones in, and reading a book.

“Hey,” Bucky said.

“Hi,” Steve replied.

Bucky wondered if Steve sounded icy or if that was just the usual cadence of his voice.

Bucky toweled his hair dry and said, “You didn’t show up for lunch.”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” Bucky hung the towel off the post on his bed. “Well, maybe tomorrow?”

“No.”

Bucky frowned, but the effect was lost since Steve hadn’t looked up from his reading once. 

“Okay?” Bucky said and put his hands on his hips. “Did I do something?”

Steve flipped the book closed with a snap and finally looked at Bucky. It was indeed an icy, icy stare. “No, you didn’t do anything,” he said, voice dripping with faux-politeness. “I just didn’t think you’d want me there, considering I’m a – what did your _friends_ call me? A nightmare? That I’ve got a stick up my ass? No, I figured I’m probably better off as someone else’s _pity date_ , but thanks for the invite.”

“Shit,” Bucky said. He felt his face growing hot with embarrassment. “Those guys were assholes, I know. I tried to tell them–”

“Oh yeah, you seemed to really be stickin’ up for me,” Steve interrupted with a roll of his eyes. He swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was sitting, still glaring up at Bucky.

“No, I didn’t, but…” Bucky paused and bit his lip. “Well, they weren’t lying exactly, were they? You were kind of impossible to live with.”

“If I’m so goddamn hard to live with, then why don’t you request another room, then, huh?”

“Why are you so determined to make everyone hate you?!” Bucky shot back.

Steve was on his feet in a flash. Bucky half-expected him to crowd Bucky’s space like he’d seen him do to Brock, but instead, Steve retreated to the other end of the room, arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t…,” Steve started to say, then stopped, eyes dropping to the floor. “Shit,” he breathed out.

“I’m not requesting another room,” Bucky said with a note of finality. He sat on his own bed, hands folded in his lap, and stared at Steve. “If you do, that’s fine. Just because I’m your RA doesn’t mean I won’t help you.”

Steve looked back at Bucky and though it seemed to physically pain him, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“No,” Steve said vehemently. “It’s not. I’m sorry for treating you like an asshole, for making crazy demands all the time. It’s just… people have this impression of me. I know what people say. So, why not own it? It’s not like anyone’s gonna try and get to know me anyway.”

“For the record, I would have. I still _do_ want to get to know you,” Bucky said.

Steve smiled a little. “Yeah, well, I know that _now_.” He let out a long breath. “Being snippy is my defense mechanism. I get that way around people who make me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” Bucky cracked a smile and Steve shrugged.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re…”

“I’m what?”

Steve huffed out an annoyed breath and walked back over to sit on his bed, across from Bucky. “You’re on the hockey team, you’ve got all these friends and you walk around looking like _that_.” Steve held out his hand in Bucky’s general direction.

Bucky’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God.”

Steve immediately turned red and quickly buried his face in his hands. “Shit, shit, shit, forget I said anything _oh my God_.”

“Oh my God,” Bucky repeated. “Steve, do you think I’m hot?”

Steve very eloquently gave him the finger, which just made Bucky burst into laughter, falling back onto his bed in fits. When he was finally able to control himself and sit back up, Steve was scowling at Bucky, but looking much less angry, which was certainly an improvement.

“I hope you’re happy now,” Steve said.

“Yeah, kinda,” Bucky replied. “Steve Rogers thinks I’m hot. There’s no higher honor, I don’t think.”

“Don’t be an asshole about it.” Steve picked at a loose thread on his comforter.

“I am being 100 percent sincere, pal. I’m flattered. Not just anyone can break through that mile-thick layer of piss and vinegar that is your natural veneer and you’re saying I did it? That’s an accomplishment!”

“Fuck off.”

“I guess now’s a good a time as any to tell you you’re pretty easy on the eyes, too, Rogers.” 

“Stop.”

“Why?”  


“You’re making fun of me.”  


“I’m not. I swear to God, I’m not.”

Steve looked up at Bucky with narrowed eyes. “Fine. Whatever,” Steve said and threw back the covers on his bed before crawling under.

Bucky followed suit shortly after, turning off the light before crawling into bed. It was quiet in the dark. Bucky heard Steve shift under his blanket.

“So how long have you had a crush on me?” Bucky asked the darkness.

“I swear to fucking God, Bucky, if you don’t let this go–”

“See, your threats just aren’t as terrifying now that I know you’re just pullin’ my pigtails, so to speak.”

“Pulling your _what_?”

“Pigtails. Like in cartoons. The little boy pulls the girl’s pigtails ‘cause he likes her?”

“Fucking hell.”

“So, how long, Steve? Was it the _moment_ I walked in to the dorm or did it take a couple hours?”

“I swear to _God_ ,” Steve flipped on the reading lamp by his bed, flooding the dorm in yellow light, “I will smother you in your sleep if you do not drop this.”

Bucky was grinning from ear to ear. “So, it was the _moment_ you saw me. Wow, Steve. That’s romantic.”

“For the fucking record,” Steve said, and Bucky realized he looked very different with his glasses off, “I never said I _liked_ you. You’re… You’re… _aesthetically pleasing_.”

Bucky immediately burst out into laughter again, over which Steve shouted, “FUCK YOU!” before shutting the light off again.

  


* * *

  


Bucky stopped short against the dasher board, scraping up ice under his skate.

“You’re going to do really well,” Steve said, leaning forward to peer up at Bucky.

“Well, shows how much you know,” Bucky said. “These guys are gonna crush us.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve said rolling his eyes.

Bucky grinned, then added, “Hey, thanks for coming.”

Steve raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by a barrage of wolf-whistling and catcalling from both behind Bucky on the ice and in front of him in the stands by the folks who had just hopped off the ice.

“Gonna give him a good luck kiss, right, Stevie?” Tony’s melodious voice was followed by a sharp push to Bucky’s right as the man skated up to join them.

“Fuck off, Tony,” Bucky said and tapped him twice on the shin with his stick until he skated back out.

“Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, kiss him!” Clint chanted, which was quickly joined by a volley of teammates, including Natasha – that traitor.

Bucky was glaring at her when Steve leaned across the barrier to kiss Bucky. Bucky let out a grunt of surprise, but quickly melted into the kiss, pressing forward as far as the dasher board would allow.

The newly invigorated catcalling was worth it for the dopey look on Steve’s face when they broke apart.

“You’re not sitting with the team, are you?” Bucky asked, glancing at the bench worriedly.

Steve pointed behind him. “Nah. I got Maria and Peggy to come. It was surprisingly easy. I just had to tell ‘em about hot, sweaty people throwing themselves up against each other on ice and they seemed pretty eager.”

Bucky snorted. “All right. I’ll see you at intermission?”

“Yeah. Break a leg.”

“Christ, I’m gonna have to teach you how to talk like you’ve seen any sports at all.”

“Sure, if you lose you can teach me all the sports language you like tonight,” Steve said.

Bucky grinned. “And what if we win?”

“If you win,” Steve said, leaning forward so he could speak quietly, “I can think of a few things we could do to celebrate.”

Bucky never played better in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This got a lot longer than I wanted it to, but what can you do? Thanks for reading!! 
> 
> This is based on [a tumblr post](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com/post/140048707015/lesbianrey-looks-like-the-perfect-opportunity) that went around a couple weeks ago. I found the actual info for the project [here](https://filemaker.cla.umn.edu/PsyREP/project_details.php?-action=browse&-recid=4303), if you're interested.
> 
> The hockey team: Bucky, Clint, Sam, Natasha, Tony, Bruce, Sharon, Thor, Loki, Scott Lang, Rhodey, Gamora, Peter Quill, Hope, and Peter Parker.
> 
> APO - Alpha Phi Omega - is a real co-ed fraternity that does a lot of great community service and leadership work. My best friend is a part of it and she loves it. They're on a lot of campuses, so if you want to make friends, that's a good way to do it!
> 
> I'll probably be taking prompts sometime within the next couple days, which I'll combine into a doc to put on here eventually, so look out for that. In the meantime, [send me prompts](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com/ask)! I've reblogged [a list](http://bartlebies.tumblr.com/tagged/prompts) with dialogue prompts, but feel free to send me your own! I hope to work on 'em this weekend if I've got the time. If you don't have a tumblr, you can prompt me in the comments below, too, and I'll be sure to post 'em all on AO3.


End file.
